


Demolition Lovers (Working Title)

by Miss_Oswald



Category: Antisepticeye - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye
Genre: Bad Parenting, Catholic Character, Catholic Guilt, F/M, Past Child Abuse, halloween fic, i've just gotten into MCR, priest!Gerard can have me anytime, so yeah that's why he's tagged, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-22
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2019-01-21 14:16:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12459522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Oswald/pseuds/Miss_Oswald
Summary: Grace Evans is running; from her home, from her life, from her past. Her only hope is to start a new, quiet life for herself with the help of her weird Aunt Tabitha.Much to her despair, she soon realizes that they are not alone in the house.But what is a Catholic girl to do when she meets a demon?(THIS IS ON HIATUS AT THE MOMENT AS I'VE DECIDED TO FINISH BEFORE UPLOADED AS WELL AS COMPLETELY CHANGING THE FORMAT OF THE ENTIRE THING. SO THINK OF CHAPTER ONE AS A LITTLE PREVIEW INSTEAD OF A CHAPTER.)





	Demolition Lovers (Working Title)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay... okay, okay. 
> 
> I'm doing something I've sworn I'd never do: POST A WIP FIC BEFORE IT'S FINISHED because I know how much it sucks when you're really into a story and heyyyy guess what... not finishing it. The end. 
> 
> But I feel myself queitly becoming bored with this fic, and if it's going to exist at all, I have to get posting. Fingers crossed that's enough to keep me chugging to the end. 
> 
> Side note: I also just got into MCR so forgive me having fun with Gerard Way in this fic. But it's a dire need of mine. I need it. x
> 
>  
> 
> THIS IS ALSO UNEDITED AS FUUUUUCK!

Grace walks up the road to her aunt’s house, and when it comes into view, she expects some sort of release or relief; the feeling of letting go of the past and starting anew. After everything she did, she had to be different, hadn’t she? She had been counting on that. But even as the house comes into view, she still has that sense of dread that sits heavy and sick inside of her like something rotten. She honestly didn’t know what else she could do to change. And now, after everything, she feels like the exact same girl she was before the start of all this. And that’s more heartbreaking than anything she’d felt before.

 

The twenty year old treks over the pebblestone walkway, her suitcase bumping and shifting over the many small pot holes. She drags her heavily booted feet along the crunchy brown leaves, still waiting for the moment the wire tying her to her old life is snipped away, leaving her free to start her new life. But it doesn’t come. Not as she finally walks onto the creepy ivy-laced house property, not as she knocks on the black wooden door, not even as her Aunt Tabby swooshes the door open and invites her into the sage-scented house.

 

She’s the exact same girl. But at least her surroundings are different. 

 

“How was your trip, pet?” Aunt Tabby wraps an arm around Grace. 

 

She still looks so good, Grace notes to herself. It’s been at least ten years since she’s seen her aunt, but she looks as young and vibrant as ever, though her strawberry blonde hair holds a few silver locks here and there. Her eyes are still a stunning mix of blue and green and the freckles on her cheeks compliment the fairness of her skin. 

 

“It was good.” 

 

Grace would rather not talk about the hell she went through to get here. She’s just happy that she’s here. 

 

Tabby pulls her into the house and a sense of home comes over Grace. It’s cozy, and smells like sage, and there are strings of beads instead of doors. There’s a million and one potted plants that litter the rooms and beautiful swirling designs of tapestry are pinned to the dark wooden walls. 

 

She takes a deep breath and feels her shoulders relax for the first time in… She can’t remember the last time she’d felt this… safe. 

 

Her aunt takes her rolling suitcase from her and sets it against the wall. She pulls Grace in front of her, one shoulder in each hand. Tabby takes her time looking her over, slowly and carefully, as if she’s trying to memorize every pimple, worry line, and strand of frizzy hair. 

 

Her green-blue eyes fill with tears and her bottom lips trembles. 

 

Grace almost want to look away, the sudden intense, honest emotion almost too much to bear.

 

“The last time I saw you, you were just a girl.” Tabby caresses her cheek, and her fingers are ever so soft on Grace’s face. “You were always such a serious girl. I don’t think I had ever heard you laugh. Not once.”

 

Grace bites her lower lip and shrugs. “I didn’t have much of an imagination.”

 

Tabby gives her a pained look. “Impossible. You weren’t allowed, dear. There’s a difference.”

 

Grace gives her aunt a sad smile, her stomach curling into a knot. Just the mention of home makes her want to itch her skin. 

 

“But you’re here now. And that’s all that matters, yes?”

 

She nods wholeheartedly. 

 

“Come, let's get you all set up.” Tabby takes her suitcase and tugs it behind it. It rattles on the hardwood floor and gets stuck on an oriental rug. “It’s nothing special, I didn’t really know what you liked so I left it pretty bare. We can decorate properly after you’ve settled in.”

 

“I’m sure it’s great,” Grace says. “I’ve always loved your style, Aunt Tabby.”

 

Tabby ruffles her hair and leads her to the staircase. As they ascend to the top floor, Grace runs her fingers over the intricate grooves that are carved into the wooden railing. 

 

She had only dreamed of what her aunt’s house might look like, and this reaches every one of her imaginations. It’s old and classic and welcoming and charming. 

 

Tabby leads her down the hallway to the first door on the right. It’s painted a maroon-pink colour and has an emblem of a sleepy cat on it. She pulls the door open and reveals the large, gorgeous room inside. 

 

Her bed sits on the right hand side, headboard against the wall, and is swallowed whole by pillows. The wooden bed frame expands to the ceiling and a dark pink, sheer canopy hangs from the heavens. There’s a desk by the window that is littered with succulents and crystals and coverless books. In the corner sits a small altar with half-burnt candles, the wax dripping over the edge. Up against the left wall is a bookcase that takes up the entire length of the room and is stuffed to the brim with books of all sizes, colours, and newness. Right in front of the bookcase sits the biggest, roundest, plumpest bean bag chair Grace has ever seen.

 

“I know it’s not much…” Tabby says, leaning against the doorframe. Her knitted shawl makes her look like one of those fortune tellers you see at halloween festivals. 

 

“It’s brilliant.” Grace says, and she can’t help the blinding smile that forms on her face. “Thank you.”

 

A blush forms on Tabby’s cheeks and she chews on her thumbnail. 

 

“Well, I’ll let you get settled then. Come down when you’re ready, and I’ll make some tea.” She turns to leave but then stops. “Do you like tea?”

 

Grace nods. “Very much.”

 

“Good, good.”

 

And then her aunt leaves her to explore her new room.

 

Her new home.

 

 

Grace takes her time unpacking and laying everything out on the bed. There isn’t much. Just a few blouses and skirts, her pantyhose, her sketch book and writing utensils, and her mother's beloved Stephen King novels that Grace had hidden under her floorboards at home. She’d taken a few knick knacks as well, and her toiletries of course.

 

But she had left everything else.

 

She tucks her clothes into the small dresser beside her bed, only filling one drawer. Grace carries her sketching supplies over to the table by the window and sets them down right in the middle. She stacks her novels onto the floor beside her bed and moves her bag of toiletries onto the top of her dresser. 

 

Grace steps back and looks around the room. 

 

There’s paintings of moons right onto the walls themselves and the room smells like something earthy but sweet-- like pumpkin pie. The crystals and plants and candles make her feel like she’s living in some sort of hippie’s dream.

 

Which, she supposes, she kind of is. 

 

With one last, longing look at the room (she can’t wait to crawl into bed and have a good night’s rest), she makes her way downstairs.

 

Grace finds her aunt steeping loose-leaf tea in clear glass mugs on the island. Her kitchen is huge, with wrap-around counters, a double-decker island that has an extra stove top and barstools, the biggest chrome fridge she has ever seen, a shining silver stove, and enough space to choreograph a dance number. The walls are painted a lush dark green and fruit hangs in baskets from the ceiling. 

 

“I can’t get over how beautiful your home is.” Grace admits, taking a seat on one of the barstools across from where her aunt is standing.

 

“Our home, Grace. And I expect you to be putting your personal touches around the house as well,” Tabby says as she slides a mug over to her. 

 

Grace smiles, knowing full well she has nothing to offer this house.

 

Her aunt pauses, looking quizzically into her swirling tea.

 

Grace knows what’s coming.

 

“How are you holding up?”

 

She sighs, warming her hands over her mug. “I’m fine. I’m okay.”

 

“There’s something I’d like for you to do for me, alright?”

 

She nods. “Of course. Whatever it is, of course.”

 

“I want you to be selfish. I want you to explore your tastes and interest. I want you to watch what you want to watch, listen to what you want to listen to, do whatever you want to do. Can you do that for me?”

 

“That’s a lot to do,” she says, giving her aunt an uneasy smile. 

 

“Oh sweetheart. It isn’t. It really, really isn’t.”

 

Grace bites at her lip. “I don’t know what I like.” It comes out as a whisper. 

 

“Well, let’s start off easy.” Tabby sets her tea down and crosses her arms, leaning forward onto the island. “What type of music do you like?”

 

She huffs, wracking her brain for something-- anything. She knows she used to like Britney Spears. She’s heard a few songs here and there, but no artist comes to mind.

 

“I really only know bible music.”

 

“And do you like it?”

 

“Gosh, no.”

 

Tabby laughs. “Let’s go to the opposite end of the spectrum then, shall we?”

 

“And what’s that?” 

 

“The devil’s music. Rock and roll, baby.”

 

Grace grins.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed x


End file.
